


Bonetown: Population None

by PositivePumpkin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Is Trying (Good Omens), Collars, Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Demon Deals, Demon Summoning, More tags to be added as the fic progresses, No Sex, No Smut, Other, Partial Nudity, Succubus Crowley, Uniforms, aziraphale thinks crowley must be cold without clothes, but if you cant, here's more tags, i think you can see where this is going, prepare to be disappointed, rated for mature themes, sexy outfits, so if you're here for that, succubus au, the succubus uniform is very revealing, this is basically an Ecchi au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 01:58:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21291764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PositivePumpkin/pseuds/PositivePumpkin
Summary: Aziraphale accidentally summons a demon while trying to make chicken soup. The demon he summons is Anthony J Crowley, a succubus. Only problem is, Aziraphale has no interest in the carnal pleasures Crowley is offering. What is a bookshop owner and a demon to do?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 118





	Bonetown: Population None

A great cloud of smoke grew in his kitchen, and for a second, Aziraphale thought he had incidentally started a fire. But there was something—someone, in the smoke. The vaguely-man-shaped being waved the smoke away, choking and coughing on it. Eventually the cloud dispersed some and there was what looked to be a man clad in scantily clothing. He, or at least, it looked like a he, was wearing black-out sunglasses, a thick studded collar on his neck that attached to a sort of harness criss-crossing his chest in an upside-down star pattern, and a rather high-waisted thong.

Large intimidating black wings helped fan the smoke out of the room as the demon offered a wry smirk and looked Aziraphale over appreciatively. He rather thought that demonic wings would look leatherier, but these wings were sleekly feathered and looked almost like they’d be silky to the touch. The demon spoke, his voice littered with a soft hissing note, “hello, Anthony J Crowley, at your service. So, let’s get down to it, what would you like? Male, female, a mix, something inhuman perhaps? You into that kinky shit? Tentacles maybe?”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, eloquent as he always was. He was certainly looking a sight, standing in his kitchen, wooden spoon in one hand dripping on the floor, mouth agape as he stared at the creature on his counter. He looked down to the pot, of what was supposed to be chicken soup, and then back to the creature. “How? I, uh, I mean, my name is Aziraphale,” he dumbly reached out to shake Crowley’s hand, his mum certainly would’ve scolded him for being so rude, but then, this was a terribly unusual situation.

The creature? Demon? Crowley, took his hand and shook once, a thin ribbon of red energy coming out and wrapping around both of their hands. That probably wasn’t good. But Aziraphale was still quite stunned that he’d somehow summoned someone—something? He was beginning to feel faint, and not from the sickness he’d been trying to cure with soup.

“I think I might need a lie down,” Aziraphale said, trying to excuse himself politely as he stumbled back into his living area and sat down on his settee. He hid his face in his hands as he tried to calm his swirling mind. What exactly had he just done? Enter a pact with a—a demon!

“That’s usually best for these things,” Crowley hopped down from where he was sitting on the counter and followed him, hips moving in a rather hypnotic and certainly unnatural fashion. He sat himself onto his knees in front of Aziraphale, looking up at him, waiting for… permission? Instruction?

“Terribly sorry, dear… boy?” At Crowley’s vague head wiggle that was mostly a nod, but still a lot of considering, he continued, “I think there’s been some sort of mistake. I only wanted to make chicken soup, to cure this dreadful head cold.” As if to make his point, or for some rather comedic timing, he hastily pulled out his handkerchief just in time to catch a rather nasty sneeze.

Crowley tilted his head, as if he had to consider this. The demon crawled up onto Aziraphale’s lap, who then hastily looked away as he’d gotten quite the eyeful of demonic groin. Crowley lifted Aziraphale’s chin so that the man was looking straight at him. The demon seemed to be carefully scrutinizing the poor confused man he was sitting on, before gently kissing the tip of his nose.

A tingly sort of feeling spread from Aziraphale’s nose to his head to the aches in his bones. He ended up sneezing, turning his head just in time to avoid spraying the creature on his lap. He was about to get mad, but then he realized his head cold was well and truly gone. The fogginess, fever, and frightfully powerful cough all vanquished. Did this mean his soul was gone? Did he sell his soul to remove a head cold?

“There, all cleared up, right?” The demon wiggled his body, and for one moment Aziraphale thought he might still be delirious because he couldn’t help but think it resembled an excited dog. But he wasn’t delirious, or hallucinating. A pity, because that meant he really did summon a demon here and—wait. Where were this poor thing’s clothes?

“My dear, aren’t you cold? And do please get off my lap,” Aziraphale made to push the demon off, but found way too much uncovered skin so instead his hands hovered awkwardly. Crowley looked confused, and a little hurt, but still got off and moved to sit back on his knees in front of Aziraphale.

“I don’t understand,” the demon huffed, beginning to look irritated. “What can I do to please you? You summoned a succubus, so surely, you have _some_ need of one? Even if it wasn’t your intention, I assure you I can pleasure you,” Crowley’s voice went from a whiny irritated sound to a deep purr as he talked. He pressed his hands into Aziraphale’s legs, spreading them, before he shimmied into the space between. He stuck his forked?! tongue out and flicked it like a snake, “I am very talented with my tongue, I promise.”

“Ah, no, actually, I’d rather like that soup still, if it hasn’t burnt,” Aziraphale awkwardly shuffled away from Crowley and stepped over him to go back to the kitchen, where the soup was beginning to char. With a sigh, Aziraphale removed the top, charred layer and was pleased to find that most of the soup was fine. He didn’t have to look to know that Crowley was behind him, eyeing the soup with a rather disgusted expression. “You don’t like chicken?” Aziraphale hadn’t meant to ask, but well, he didn’t want to be rude, he did invite him here, in a way.

“I’ve never eaten before,” Crowley murmured, sniffing the air, then when that wasn’t proving to be enough, tasting it with a flick of serpentine tongue. He circled Aziraphale, walking from one side to the other in a slow, languorous walk. It was terribly distracting. Finally, the demon settled, leaning forward once more to look at the pot, more curious than disgusted now, “I _can_ eat, but never really saw the point. It’s not my thing, Gluttony, that is.”

“No, I suppose Lust is more your thing, hm?” Aziraphale smiled, despite himself. He handed the bowl he poured for himself to Crowley instead, and began pouring the remainder in a new bowl. “Do try it, let me know if you like? It’s a rather old recipe, I suppose that could be why you were summoned. Although, that does raise a few more questions than answers. I got this recipe from this dear sweet girl, Anathema you see, and—oh, you, ah, you probably don’t care to hear me ramble,” Aziraphale flushed, as if remembering something embarrassing.

“S’fine,” Crowley’s voice was muffled from him sticking his head in the bowl. Aziraphale hurriedly pulled the demon’s head up and wiped up his face with a napkin. He raised an eyebrow and pointedly put a spoon into the bowl. When he looked back up, Crowley had an impish smile on his face, making Aziraphale realize he’d just been messing about. He huffed good naturedly and led the creature into the living area once more.

“Do sit down,” Aziraphale gestured to the settee, before he sat in his favourite armchair. Delightfully comfortable and worn in just enough to really settle into, but still remaining plush. Crowley, to Aziraphale’s chagrin, kneeled down in front of the man once more, instead of sitting on the settee like he expected. It might be that he didn’t know better, but Aziraphale suspected he was just being cheeky again. And if that was the case, well, he could suffer the sore knees then.

Crowley didn’t bother with the spoon, just held it to the side and drank, despite how the soup must be scalding. Aziraphale fret but calmed when it seemed the demon was unaffected by the heat. The demon licked his lips, not in a seductive manner, but as if he was considering the taste. Then, Crowley watched Aziraphale eat, intent on the man’s expressions. He seemed, confused and a tad concerned. “This didn’t turn out right, I think,” Aziraphale put the bowl down, “how on Earth did you manage to eat that? It tasted dreadful.”

“You gave it to me to eat?” Crowley tilted his head and looked at him with one eyebrow raised as if the answer was obvious. He shifted uneasily then, “are we going to get this over with? Or is this something humans are into? What is it called… blue balling? Not that I have any at the moment, unless you’d like that?”

Aziraphale sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can’t you just… go back?” He waved a gesture that indicated the floor, perhaps meaning Hell, but it looked more like a shooing motion. Either way, Aziraphale was tired, and would very much like for this nonsense to be over with.

“Am I not satisfying? I can change my shape for you,” Crowley closed his eyes and concentrated, becoming a rather busty woman. His—her? tits were free and unrestrained by the harness or any clothing at all, thankfully the long red hair that had grown out covered some of them, but it was still quite indecent. He? She? They were quite attractive, aesthetically speaking, but Aziraphale refused to look, keeping his head up so as to not accidentally glimpse a peek of bosom.

"No! No, that er, that isn't it, trust me," Aziraphale sputtered, face a brilliant cherry red. "Please, pick whatever form you feel comfortable in, but do put on clothes!"

"Oh? Is that what you like? What kind? Nurse? Maid? Those are pretty popular," Crowley exclaimed, a smile beginning to break out on his face. The bustiness disappeared as he listed ideas, all the while his clothes changed. First a rather skimpy and tight nurse dress, the overall style of which hadn't been in use for several decades. Then a French maid outfit which was way too low cut and showed off too much of his long legs, complete with stockings and garter. Throughout the outfit changes, through nurse, maid, flight attendant, police, cat, and more, Crowley's collar never changed.

"Stop!" Aziraphale cried, sure he was going to spontaneously combust at this point. He hid his face in his hands once more, breathing harsh and heavy in his attempt to get himself under control before anger won out.

"Ah, so this is what you like?" Crowley sounded smug, enough so Aziraphale looked up without thinking. He nearly choked, scandalized as he took in Crowley's new outfit. Gone was the harness (though not the thong if the straps were any indication) and in its place was a white blouse tied together by the ends instead of properly buttoned, a plaid skirt, knee-high white socks, and Mary Janes. A Catholic schoolgirl outfit, if the crosses on what barely passes as a shirt were any indication. And still that thick black studded collar remained.

"No, no, my dear ah, boy?" Aziraphale said uncertainly, before ploughing through the demon's confused expression, "I'm uninterested in sex I'm afraid. Asexual, that is, I do not desire the carnal pleasures you're offering." It was tiring, having to explain this all the time, but then it was confusing for humans, so it stood to reason it would be quite unheard of for a sex-demon.

"So, it's not me, it's you," Crowley raised an eyebrow. He was still in the schoolgirl outfit why hadn't he changed? At least it covered more, if only marginally. “Well, I can’t leave until you make use of me, you made a deal,” Crowley pointed out, as if it were obvious, when it really was anything but. “You shook on it, accepted your package,” Crowley gestured to himself, “I’m stuck here until you’re satisfied. Those are the rules.”

“I did no such thing!” Aziraphale yelled, quite offended at the implication, “I merely shook your hand because it’s the polite thing to do!” Honestly if it was that easy to make a deal with a demon, how did people go around without accidentally doing it? Really now, he was making soup which—had been Anathema’s recipe. And she was a known witch. Or at least, claimed to be. There _might_ be some truth to it, Aziraphale supposed, with the recent evidence.

“Well, you summoned a succubus, and now that I’m here, I’m your problem,” Crowley shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but it kind of was. Or at least, Aziraphale certainly thought so. Crowley, however, hadn’t been on Earth in so long, he was rather glad for the ability to stretch his wings as it were. He didn’t have a place to live, but then he also didn’t really need one.

“So, you’re stuck on Earth,” Aziraphale sighed, and his stomach growled, reminding him he’d only had a spoonful of some rather disgusting soup. “Well, I’d like to get something to eat,” he stood up, and began walking towards the stairs and the flat that lay above his shop, “are you coming? We can’t go out with you looking like that.”

“Ah, I’m coming with you?” Crowley had been sitting on the floor, before he turned around in surprise and looked up at Aziraphale dumbly. He scrambled to get up and follow Aziraphale up the stairs. He trailed behind and took in the upstairs was one large bedroom that was absolutely filled with books. The wardrobe was covered in books, the closet was held open with books, there was no space on the bedside table as it was full of books, and, well, the place was a mess.

“Well, I can’t just kick you out and let you fend for yourself. You’re a demon! I can just imagine all the mischief you’d get up to, and this, is sort of my fault,” Aziraphale mused. Well, as far as he was concerned, it was Anathema’s fault for giving him a summoning spell instead of a soup recipe. But there was nothing he could do on an empty stomach, or at least, there is nothing worth doing on an empty stomach. He fussed about, moving books off and out of the way of the wardrobe before picking out a button up.

“Here, take that poor mangled shirt off and try this instead,” he tossed the light blue shirt at Crowley without looking. Crowley obediently stripped and put on the shirt, which was much too big for his skinny frame. He had intended to tie it up, like the shirt he had previously been wearing, but something in him stopped him from mussing up the man’s clothes. It was clearly well-loved; the shirt wasn’t threadbare so much as well-worn. Aziraphale was digging in his wardrobe drawers for trousers that might possibly fit the slim form of his unexpected guest, “we’ll have to go shopping to get you something that fits, I’m afraid I might not have any proper trousers for you.”

“Does it matter?” Crowley stepped out of the plaid skirt and his shoes, as he walked over to Aziraphale’s side. “I can make it, so no one looks twice at us, that we pass by unnoticed in the eyes of passer-by,” the demon offered, sitting down on his heels, bouncing idly as he watched Aziraphale dig through clothes. Aziraphale glanced over, then immediately away when he took in how Crowley looked in his shirt, a thong, and knee-high socks. The flush on his face returning in full.

“That sounds, er, dreadful, ah, I would rather we didn’t go messing with people’s minds,” Aziraphale sighed and handed him his tightest pair of trousers, which weren’t actual terribly tight in today’s society. “Try these on,” he muttered, sure he had a pair of really old sweatpants back from, well, from a long time ago. He realized his mistake as his peripheral vision was filled with the bright red thong.

The pants didn’t fit, which was expected, but still disappointing. Crowley was holding the trousers up and when he let go, they sagged and had to have been held up by demonic magic as nothing else made sense. Crowley certainly didn’t have the ass to hold the clothing up. The large clothing made him look much younger, not that he looked particularly old, which led Aziraphale to asking, “how old are you?”

“Oh, I’ve been alive for… 4… 5? No 6? How many years now?” Crowley looked off into space, thinking hard and counting on his fingers. His tongue flicked out without his say so and scented the air. It would’ve been adorable if his words hadn’t been so confusing.

“Wait, what?” Aziraphale snapped, turning to look at Crowley in alarm. He certainly didn’t look like a child. But then, he also hadn’t had any sort of idea how things worked in the human world. Did demons age differently? What was he in human years then, or was he literally a child?

“Yea, I think it’s been 6,000 years, give or take several decades. Why is your human time scale so strange?” The demon teased. He smirked, and took Aziraphale by the arm, hoisting him up with surprising strength. “Come on, show me around a bit, let’s get food. It’s,” Crowley takes a peek out the window, looking at the height of the sun in the sky, “looks to be about dinner time. Take me somewhere tasty.”

“My dear! You can’t go out like that! You’re still… still indecent!” Aziraphale fumed, face red and cheeks puffing adorably. Crowley just laughed, and laughed, finding the situation so entertaining, that tears started to form in the corners of his eyes. Aziraphale pouted while Crowley laughed, although he had to admit, joy was a good look on him. But the shaking laughter brought attention something that perhaps should’ve been his first concern. Namely, the large twitching black wings. “Ah, I suppose there are other problems I had neglected to consider,” he muttered petulantly.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Crowley waived off when he could breathe again. He stretched his wings out and then in a rather strange and slightly disturbing movement, he tucked them into his back where two large black wing tattoos appeared. Aziraphale only knew that because once again Crowley was shirtless, said shirt having been ripped off with the demon’s laughter. The demon saw the dismayed look Aziraphale shot at the torn shirt, and snapped his fingers, repairing it and handing it back to him.

“Oh, oh my, that is quite fascinating,” Aziraphale idly rubbed the shirt with his fingers as he admired Crowley’s new tattoos. When the demon turned around, his view changed from black wing tattoos to sleek chest. “You uh, you don’t…” he couldn’t help as he looked over the chest, “you don’t have any nipples. Or uh, or a belly button for that matter.”

“Oh, do you like them? They’re just like accessories to me,” Crowley waved a hand over his chest and two pert nipples appeared, peaked and red as if they’d been played with for some time already. Aziraphale was once more flushed as he turned his head away. “Relax,” Crowley snapped and his chest was covered with a long-sleeved crop top with a cleavage cut-out, he had booty shorts that were low on his hips enough so that his red thong was still quite visible, and five inch heels that wrapped up his legs with black ribbon.

“That’s!” Aziraphale huffed, once more irritated, “that is still inappropriate! Please magic yourself some normal clothes. And do get rid of that collar.” He made quite the sight, arms crossed, and cheeks puffed up. His stomach grumbled as if to accentuate his point that he was hungry and would very much like to leave.

“Ah,” it dawned on Aziraphale, then, that Crowley looked quite flabbergasted as he fumbled a sentence out, “this wasn’t my intent, I swear. And I can’t, get rid of the collar, it’s uh, well, it’s not important, but I can maybe change its shape.” The demon snapped and went through several more outfit changes, each barely getting less indecent, until he was near panting with exertion. He ended up with skinny jeans so tight they may as well have been painted on and a mesh shirt that hid nothing of the smooth planes of his chest. The collar had been changed from a big, thick, black, studded, heavy beast of a collar to the new ribbon choker. “This might be the best we get,” Crowley huffed, a sheen of sweat on his temple.

“I see, I take it this is unusual then?” Aziraphale shook out the shirt and wrapped it around Crowley, who dutifully put his arms in the sleeves. It was still quite large on him, but with it half buttoned up it didn’t look too bad. A stylish belt appeared in the demon’s hands to cinch his waist.

“This is new,” Crowley confirmed. Aziraphale nodded, more out of concern for the demon, who was looking a bit faint, than any real indication he understood what was going on. He then led Crowley down and outside to the street. “So where are you taking me, Aziraphale?”

“Well, dear, er, however shall I refer to you?” Aziraphale twisted his fingers uneasily, paying special mind to the pinkie ring. “Forgive me if I come across as rude, but I’m not terribly certain as to your gender,” he bit his lip, an embarrassed flush painting his cheeks.

“Oh, well, demons we don’t really have gender? Not uh, not like humans do at any rate. Always been a big fan of it though, suppose you could refer to me however you like, doesn’t really matter to me,” Crowley shrugged, and by the look on his face, Aziraphale was assured he was speaking truth.

“Ah, well, then I suppose for now masculine pronouns is okay? Do let me know if that changes, dear boy,” Aziraphale kept on, thankful that it was resolved before he realized, “oh, and male for me as well, if you don’t mind. Now, we’re going to this delightful little sushi place I adore, the chef there is an old friend of mine. See, we met a long time ago at this gentleman’s club I used to frequent,” Aziraphale stopped seeing the delighted look on Crowley’s face, “no, it wasn’t that kind of club. They taught me to dance an admittedly outdated style, and we’d occasionally have cocktails and gossip is all. Anyways, I met this man as he’d just recently arrived in town, you see he’s from Japan originally, and—oh, oh we’re already here.”

Crowley opened the door, letting Aziraphale walk in with a little awkward, but still happy smile. He sat right down at the bar and began greeting and conversing with the sushi chef in Japanese. Crowley followed along, not that either Aziraphale or the chef probably realized. As a demon, especially one such as himself, he was gifted with the ability of tongues; languages, though he could do some rather interesting things with his own tongue.

“Would you like anything?” Aziraphale asked, he had placed a hand on top of Crowley’s. It was so startlingly warm that Crowley could do nothing but stare. “It’s just,” Aziraphale continued when the demon didn’t answer, “I know you don’t need to eat, and you had that dreadful soup, but I promise food isn’t always that bad. Ah, perhaps you don’t know what you’d like then, if you’ve never eaten before, how about I get an assortment, and you can try some things, is that agreeable?”

“Ah, yea, sure, just, uh get whatever you like, don’t worry about me,” Crowley’s hand twitched when Aziraphale took his hand away. He found himself stretching the hand and considering how warm Aziraphale was. He’d noticed, earlier when he had crawled onto his lap, but he had been more focused on doing his job. Which it was beginning to look like he wasn’t going to be able to complete this assignment. He thought about what that might mean for him, was he just stuck on Earth indefinitely? Would Hell come for him?

“So, as I was saying,” Aziraphale sipped at a glass of water that had appeared at some point while the demon was lost in thought, “I met Mr. Miyagi at my old gentleman’s club, which has unfortunately changed hands and has now become a sordid sort of nightclub. But that’s neither here nor there. Mr. Miyagi had just moved here from Japan, and needed some help with his new restaurant, which is how I tried sushi for the first time. He had hit a spot of money trouble, and I lent a hand when I could, and now he’s got the best sushi in London. Do you know, he won second place in a national sushi competition? I can’t imagine anyone being better than him. His creations are simply divine, er, oh my, is that offensive?”

“No, s’fine,” Crowley murmured, he’d been staring at Aziraphale. Something about him was captivating, and how expressive he was, perhaps. As he talked, he moved his hands about, his face lit up when remembering, he hadn’t seemed nearly as awkward as he’d been before. It was… endearing. But he was a demon, not to be swayed by an excitable human.

“Oh, oh my, I’ve been yammering on, haven’t I? Terribly sorry, dear boy,” and somehow Aziraphale closed in on himself. Hands held tightly in his lap, to keep himself from gesticulating. His face was flushed, and it looked as if his eyes had begun to water, though some sort of determination kept any tears from falling.

“No, I like it, like hearing you talk, besides, I’m new around here, could be useful. You know, since I’m staying for the time being,” Crowley was quick to soothe. He found an uncharacteristic anger simmering in his gut at whoever made Aziraphale feel he had to quiet himself, had to hold himself still, when he clearly wanted to move. When it didn’t seem Aziraphale was going to open back up, Crowley’s hand twitched, until he reached and set his companion’s hand back on the table, with the demon’s on top this time. “Please, tell me about the local area, perhaps your gentleman’s club? Seems an interesting story to be found there,” the demon tried for reassuring, and he wasn’t sure how well he got it, but Aziraphale did perk up.

“Well, it was quite a scandal actually,” Aziraphale gave him a conspiratorial smile, “you see, the owner had been falling on hard times as his club was going out of style. Not many people these days want to learn old styles of dance or gossip with a bunch of older men. So, the owner, a Mr. Morgan, lovely chap really, had plans to retire and give the place away to his son. Now, the dear boy wanted nothing to do with his father’s business, but well, needs must and all that.”

Their sushi platter arrived then, and Aziraphale made a rather adorable humming noise and wiggled in his seat, before thanking the chef and breaking apart his chopsticks. He poured some soy sauce in one of the offered containers and applied a touch of wasabi to his first roll. He gently dabbed the roll in soy sauce and carefully shoved it in his mouth, making sure not to drip any sauce.

The next moments Crowley would have catalogued in his brain for the next several thousand years. He watched in a sort of awe at the way Aziraphale’s expressions changed. He could see the joy palpable on his face and while he was no longer a demon of Gluttony, of temptations, of _indulgence_, he could appreciate what he saw. That what he was watching now, was in no uncertain terms, _fulfilment_. The way Aziraphale enjoyed, savoured the mouthful of food, made Crowley suddenly wish he had been the one to tempt him into it.

His mouth, which had apparently been open in shock, was suddenly full as Aziraphale placed a salmon nigiri in it. Crowley chewed, dutifully, it was the best thing he’d ever eaten, and he hadn’t even tasted it before he swallowed. “There you are dear boy, how was that? Much better than that dreadful soup, would you like to try something a tad more adventurous?” Aziraphale had smiled at him, quite eager to share his likes with the demon.

Crowley could only nod dumbly and open his mouth for another roll, but instead got a bit of pickled ginger. He cringed at the taste, but still chewed and swallowed. Aziraphale laughed, and it was the loveliest sound Crowley had ever heard. Fuck, fuck, fuck! How was this happening? He’d been on Earth for no more than a couple hours and his first assignment was already going from interesting to, well, _interesting_.

“Sorry, Crowley, but it’s a palate cleanser, I couldn’t well let the flavour profiles mix together, it’d ruin it, or at least, you wouldn’t be tasting what you’re supposed to be tasting,” Aziraphale dabbed one of the rolls he’d already had some of in just a bit of soy sauce before offering it to Crowley. The demon in question raised an eyebrow but did open his mouth and take in the offered roll. This one he chewed a bit more thoughtfully. It was good. Much better than the soup, and he might’ve liked it more than the previous nigiri, if only for the joyous look on Aziraphale’s face. “I hope you don’t mind,” Aziraphale motioned with his chop sticks, “I figured you might not know how to use them, and well, it’s no trouble.”

“Not at all,” Crowley muttered, he was _not_ blushing because he was a demon and could control that, “it’s good.” He had of course made sure not to speak until after he finished chewing and swallowing. He might be a demon, but he had _manners_. “Keep eating,” Crowley implored, knowing that his temptations wouldn’t work as it had used to, no longer laced with magic, “you need it more than I do, eat your fill.”

“Oh, well, if you’d like to try anything, do tell me,” Aziraphale went back to feeding himself. Crowley found himself resting his head on his hand and just watching. He soaked up the pleased hums and excited wiggles. Between bites and palate cleansers Aziraphale talked about the gentlemen’s club, which was now apparently owned by a local gang. The owner had refused to sell for years, only for his son to sell it following his father’s unexpected and quite tragic death.

Crowley only had two more pieces, some yellowtail nigiri that was quite pleasant, and an extravagant sort of roll that had roe on the top that he didn’t care for. Despite only having a total of four pieces, he had begun to get quite lethargic. Crowley had never tried human food before, but maybe that was what was causing the strange warmth in his corporation. There could be no other explanation. Not the dim light reflecting in Aziraphale’s eyes. Not the soft smiles he sent towards the demon in the middle of talking. Not his laugh, as if he’d been made to feel bad for joy in the past, but still couldn’t help but shake with mirth. No, had to be the food.


End file.
